Anesthetic
by jamesandlilypotter81
Summary: Post 2x08. After Clarke gets back to Camp Jaha, the only person she's willing to talk to is Bellamy.


**I didn't really think I'd write more, but it's just so much fun! I know Bellamy makes a bunch of allusions (see note below), I just I thought he's probably a pretty well read guy. Anyway, hope you like it!**

When she returned from the Grounder camp, her eyes were dry and her hands were clean. She walked through the crowd of people who were staring at her in disbelief with her head held up high, her back straight. No one said a word, not even Raven, who had long since turned to Wick for the comfort Bellamy was unable to provide.

He hadn't been able to tell Raven that it would be okay, because it wouldn't. He hadn't been able to tell her that Clarke had no choice, because she did. She could have chosen to condemn the entire camp for Finn. She could have done exactly what Raven had wanted her to. That was why, of course, he also couldn't tell Raven he was sorry, because he wasn't. While he wished there had been another way, while he wished he was the Time Traveller and could use his machine to never let Finn go off on his own, while he wished he could take everything back, he knew it was no use. He wasn't sorry because given the circumstances, Clarke had done the only thing she could, the best she could, and he would stand by her decision till the end of his days.

Clarke, too, didn't say a word as she walked directly into the medical bay, her mother, Kane, Jaha, and Bellamy reflexively following. He saw Octavia step forward as well, but with the slightest shake of his head, she stopped, watching Clarke's retreating back with a worried expression.

For a whole minute, Clarke stood in the medical bay with her back to the rest of them, compelling Bellamy to hold out an arm and prevent Abby from rushing forward and force her daughter to talk before she was ready. When she finally turned around, it was as if she had erected a stone wall between herself and the rest of them.

"We have a truce," she said tonelessly, looking only into his eyes.

That was the moment, poignant in its brevity, that he just _knew_. Knew that this wasn't something she'd come back from, something that would heal. This was Hamlet's descent into madness, and he was rather certain that Ophelia was his role to play.

"Sweetheart," Abby began, stepping forward, "we need to talk." Clarke didn't look away from him as she addressed her mother.

"We just did. We have a truce. The Grounders will help us get our people out of Mount Weather."

"I think what your mother means, Clarke," Jaha began, a condescending insincere patience dripping from his tone, "is that—"

"Can you leave me and Clarke alone?" Bellamy interrupted, breaking eye contact with Clarke and turning to Abby and then Kane. "Just for a while?" He could tell that Jaha and Abby wanted to disagree, but surprisingly, Kane's curt nod kept them both silent.

"We'll be here when you need us. Take your time." Without another word, Kane turned and left, Jaha letting out a sigh and following close behind. Abby, however, looked towards her daughter with a pained expression.

"Please, Dr. Griffin. Please." There must have been something convincing in his tone, because Abby's eyes snapped towards him, a deep frown on her face.

"Okay," she said, wringing her hands and taking several steps back. "Okay." Bellamy watched as Abby left, and once he was sure she was gone, he turned back to Clarke, no longer unnerved by the way she was looking at him. He merely continued to stand there in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, leaning slightly against the doorway, ensuring she couldn't escape.

"I know you're judging me, Bellamy. As if you have any right to." When she finally broke the silence many minutes later, her voice was low, but everything about it was harsh. He sighed, looking at her yet unable to recognize her. She was contorted, all hard edges, refusing to give any quarter. "Three hundred of our people are _dead_ because of _you_. You think anyone has forgotten that?" Had it been anyone else, he'd have lashed out by now, fighting back just as ferociously. But this was Clarke, and her words—though sharp and skillfully aimed at his vitals—weren't intended as weapons; they were a cry for help. "Well?" she demanded. "Aren't you going to say something?" Her eyes widened and her fists clenched. "Come on, Bellamy, say something."

"What do you want me to say, Clarke?" he asked softly, still motionless, still willing to be her scapegoat, her human shield. Because if she needed someone else to bear her sins, he'd do it. After all, she was his Bienvenu, and he owed her his life.

"Something!" she cried, desperation now lacing the harshness of her tone. "Anything!"

And that was the moment that he realized that she was no Hamlet, destined to spiral into insanity, destined to be lost forever. She was Raskolnikov, burdened by what she had done, searching for redemption. It didn't matter to her that she did what she had to, it didn't matter to her that she had saved countless others, she was struggling under the weight of her own conscience, and—in her own way, he supposed—she was asking him to be her Sonya.

"If you want me to tell you that it'll be okay, I can't," he began, uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards her. He watched as she seemed to deflate a little, as his words sent some of her walls crumbling down. "I can't because I don't know. I don't know if the Grounders will honor the truce, if we can save our people, if we'll even last on Earth." He took another step, and something in Clarke's eyes changed, no longer stony and blank like before. "What I do know is that you're a _good_ person. I know it, and I'd stake my life on it every day." He stopped, only about a foot away from her, and held her gaze, wanting to make sure she could see that he was being sincere. "You're a _good_ person, Clarke. And I know you don't think so, and I know you'll torture yourself over this, but you did what you had to do. You saved him." She studied him, almost as if she could peer into his brain and see if he was telling the truth, and then—slowly and heartbreakingly unsure—she nodded.

"If you say so," she muttered, her guards back up. Fortunately, it was her normal blank look, her normal walls against everything around her. He knew it was how she coped, and who was he to judge other people's coping mechanisms?

"I say so," Bellamy insisted, giving her the slightest of smiles. Clarke took a deep breath and broke eye contact for the first time, looking up as if in prayer. When she looked back down, it was almost like he had gotten the old Clarke back, the one who wasn't willing to put up with any of his bullshit, and it made him want to smile wider. Of course, he knew that she'd continue to struggle with what she did for days, months, even years to come, because that was who she was. Forever the masochist, she would embrace the pain and think it was her due, the price of her actions.

And it was at that moment that he realized that whenever his Bienvenu, his Raskolnikov—but most importantly, his _friend_—was in pain, and he would gladly be her anesthetic.

_Note: I understand that the allusions are a bit much (it's Bellamy, though, so I suppose it's fitting), so for anyone who is unfamiliar or can't remember where the references come from here are some short explanations:_

_The Time Traveller's machine: H.G. Wells' _The Time Machine.

_Bienvenu: Bishop Myriel from _Les Misérables, _who inspires Jean Valjean to lead a better life. _

_Hamlet/Ophelia: Hamlet pretends to be insane in order to find out if his uncle killed his father, though the line between pretending and reality is blurred. Ophelia is unable to cope with Hamlet's madness and kills herself. _

_Raskolnikov/Sonya: Protagonists from _Crime and Punishment. _After murdering two people, Raskolnikov struggles with the guilt. Sonya encourages him to confess to the crime, and through her love and support, Raskolnikov is able to redeem himself. _


End file.
